“Relax. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Annaclaire sounded confident, but the checklist she rattle off next was anything but reassuring. “Look at the test pattern. We need to make sure your light amplification is working or you might trip and fall into orbit.”
Samson shuddered at the thought. “Can’t I just let the computer do the walking?” he said. “Or send a probe?”
“Do you have the 1.2 billion dollars it would take to replace a probe if you lose it?” Annaclaire said.
“Do you have the ability to reprogram your suit’s motors on the fly to deal with variations in terrain and to correct problems that, if untreated, could make you trip and fall into orbit?”
“Yeah,” Annaclaire said. “I thought so. Test pattern.”
Looking at the pattern, Samson followed the directions on his HUD, which gradually brightened what he saw from near-total blackness to a reasonable approximation of the amount of light on an inner solar system body like the Moon.
“Now, I’m going to open the door,” said Annaclaire. “It’s gonna be pretty dizzying. Try not to look too far up.”
“Okay,” Samson said, sounding anything but.
“Now we’re going to be tethered together, and the boots should do most of the work, but if it looks like you’re going to take off and drag me with you, I’ll cut the line. Rescue from orbit is extra, and it’ll be a straight abort if it comes to that. We clear?”
“We’re clear,” wheezed Samson.
“Good.” Annaclaire slapped a well-worn button. “We’re off.”
The door opened, revealing the great lazy ellipsoid of Haumea above the horizon, its great red impact smear like the iris of a bloodshot eye. The icy, tortured terrain of its moon Namaka lay ahead, stained reddish-brown.
“I hope whatever you’re after is worth it,” she added, elbowing me. “Time to go.”